


Memories

by hawkflyer667



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Memory Loss, Yule, alternate 5x13, bbc merlin secret santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkflyer667/pseuds/hawkflyer667
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the price for Arthur's life (post 5x13) was his memories of Merlin, would Merlin take it? And what would happen if he did?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the BBC Merlin Secret Santa 2015 for aoicanvas! Original prompt was "In the end, Merlin saves Arthur's life, but they both pay a great price: Arthur loses his memory and Merlin has to endure the pain of not being remembered by the one he loves the most. He takes him back to Camelot, to his queen, to his knights, and hopes he can find a way to fix everything." - I took my own creative liberty a bit, but its still similar to the nature of the prompt! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy-- I may come back to this universe and flesh this story out a bit more. I like the sickly sweet ending for Christmas but I would do something more plausible if I was rewriting it! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, aoicanvas. :)

The Sidhe had one qualification. One qualification in exchange for Arthur's life – also known as the life of the Once and Future King. The Savior of Avalon.  
Really, Merlin had no other choice. There was no option; no way to say no. He had dragged Arthur's body - for it was a body, the man wasn't breathing any longer - to the lake bed. Kilgarrah had already left after speaking about how he had lost Arthur but how his memory would never die, but no. No. He couldn't. There /had/ to be another way. There had to.

Wading out into the lake, clutching Arthur's still-warm body to his chest, he stood hips-deep, stomach-deep, and finally chest-deep in the cool water. He felt Avalon respond to his presence. It warmed, just slightly, and stirred.

Freya knew he was there. The Sidhe knew he was there. Weeping silently, salty tears still dripping down his face even though his throat was nearly too hoarse to talk and he couldn't imagine having more tears to shed, he stood in the water and lowered his pride enough to beg.

"Please..." he mumbled, body quaking as the cold started to seep into his body. “Please. I'll do anything. Anything you want; I'll give you anything you require of me. Just bring Arthur back to life." His voice cracked and the part of him that was still Merlin, still prideful, hated what he was doing. The Sidhe were dangerous. They had tried to _drown_ Arthur all those years ago and he had saved Arthur from that fate. Why would they want to save him now?

A bright light illuminated the top of the cool, still water and Merlin blinked, holding desperately onto the hope that they would listen to him. That he could barter. He'd sell his soul to them if they wanted. He was _Emrys_ , he could be worth something...

He'd die a million times over if only Arthur could live.

Distantly, he wondered what this change was in him. Why he was so eager to die, so devoted to Arthur, so utterly loyal. But it had always been there, really, it was just Arthur's death that prompted this flood of loyalty that had always been deep inside him. His life was worth nothing in comparison to Arthur's. It had always been that way and likely would always be so.

"... Emrys. You are very brave to summon us. Brave or stupid."

A faery, blue and vicious, hovered before him. Merlin blinked and ducked his head in deference. Perhaps respect would win him something. "... my lord, I come seeking a favor that will not go unrewarded. King Arthur has died. I wish to restore him to life."

The faery's wings flickered - its own way of blinking in surprise. "You ask me this as a favor, warlock? It is a large favor. Upsetting the balance of life does not come easily."

".... I beg of you," Merlin whispered. The lake was freezing, now, for some reason, and his will was fading. Why? What was happening? He felt dizzy - was this shock? Was he going into shock?

"You do realize that we did not sanction the attempted murder of the King. That was two renegades, fugitives of the Kingdom of Avalon."

"I'm aware, sir," Merlin replied. "Please, I don't - I don't have time for small talk, the longer he's dead the harder it is - "

"Do not presume to tell me my magic's restrictions, Merlin Ambrosius." 

Merlin's mouth snapped shut. "My apologies," he said meekly. "Please. I will give you me, if you desire, or riches beyond imagining, or...." His bottom lip was quivering despite himself.

"We hardly wish to see the Once and Future King dead. If we have the power to restore him - which we do - we shall."

Merlin's head snapped up, staring, feeling hope burst in his chest. However, he sensed a slight reduction to that phrase. "But..."

"But we shall have to take something of our own. We desire Camelot's memories of _you_ ."

Merlin's stomach flipped. "...excuse me?"

"It is an unspoken right of man to be remembered," the Sidhe King replied, a wicked grin sounding in his words even though Merlin couldn't see his face. "A right so often exercised it is only noticeable when removed. You shall be forgotten, Emrys, by everyone. Your name will go down as legend and live on as a memory, but it shall be instead a memory of a crippled, old sorcerer. You, as Merlin, as a servant and young, shall be erased from the memory of everyone you hold dear. This is our reward for saving your King. Only needed, mind, because you failed in your destiny to protect him."

Merlin stood, shocked and hurt. Could he -- but.... he'd have to --

"I'll do it." There was no other choice and he couldn't think of the consequences. "Remove the memories and for gods sake.... bring him back."

The faery glimmered and the light on the water seemed to intensify. Staggered, Merlin almost dropped Arthur in his haste to cover his eyes. Whatever was happening was causing the water to bubble, practically boil. The water, before so cold, was warming rapidly.

In his arms, Arthur let out a broken, sickly gasp and then started to cough rapidly, body convulsing. He was choking, lungs getting acclimated to filling with air once more. Stunned, Merlin just watched for a few moments until he realized what was happening.

Arthur was returning to life.

He wrapped his arms stronger around Arthur, feeling the King’s strength restore with every weak cough Arthur gave, and hauled him backwards out of the lake. “Thank you…” he breathed, knowing what this meant. If Arthur was alive, they had stolen his Kingdom’s memories. He was forgotten.

It didn’t matter – he couldn’t dwell on that now. First things first: he had to get Arthur someplace warm. His limited knowledge of the physician’s arts warned him that taking a dive into the lake of Avalon before summer was risking dying of cold. The man had died and been restored, as well, so his body heat was almost non-existent.

Dragging Arthur’s prone form, Merlin tugged him towards the tree-line. Judiciously, he stripped Arthur of his wet things, wrapped him in his red cloak, and pushed fallen pine needles and leaves around his bare legs. Fingers numb with cold, he worked quickly to build a small fire, not bothering to even root for kindling before snapping the spell and feeling warmth bloom into the air with the flames. 

Arthur had fallen back asleep without a word. He had seen that many times with Gaius – a body restored from the brink of death would be weakened and tired. He would need to sleep. Merlin would need to find something for them to eat. A hot broth… maybe some tea? 

Huddling over the fire, he was forced to grit his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering as it grew colder. It wasn’t over yet. Arthur wasn’t immediately dying but his wound still needed tending and he would be severely weakened. They’d have to start off soon to have any chance of making it back to Camelot before Gwen or the others started to worry. He’d have to warn them -- 

He’d have to do nothing. They didn’t remember him. That was the Sidhe’s price. He forced it out of his mind but it lingered, teasing there. He didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on things like that – he would have to deal with that when it came.

Sighing, he looked into the woods, smelling the cold in the air. Years of hunting and tracking experience with Arthur had made him able to feel comfortable in the woods. He didn’t have the King with him, this time, but he did have the added benefit of magic. It would have to do.

He rose, shaking freezing fingers and blowing on them. His cheeks and ears were stained red with cold. From next to the fire, Arthur shifted, mumbling something – the sound warmed him, slightly. Arthur was alive.

Turning, Merlin vanished into the woods to hunt.

***  
Merlin was tending to the meat when Arthur opened his eyes. His head throbbed painfully but his sight was clear and when he coughed, it didn’t feel like he was suffocating. He was… by a fire? That didn’t make sense. How did he get here…

There was a man by the fire. Horrified, Arthur scrabbled for his sword, but it wasn’t there. He was in his small-clothes? What – what the hell…?

“Be calm,” the man said gently. “You’ll hurt yourself if you flail. I pulled you from the lake; you must have taken quite a spill.”

“…who are you?” Arthur croaked, narrowing his eyes. The look of the figure seemed familiar, in a distant way, like a half-remembered dream. The man wore a ragged brown jacket, a blue tunic, and a filthy red neckerchief that didn’t seem to be doing much to protect his slim neck from cold. “Why am I here? I’m – hell, I’m supposed to be at Camlann… I’m bloody King –”

“I wouldn’t go advertising that, if I were you,” the man said quietly, turning to look at him. He had mud on his face, Arthur noted, and looked extremely tired. “Although it’s nice to know you’re not delirious this time. Would you like some rabbit?”

His stomach rumbled at the thought but Arthur forced himself to ignore it. “You didn’t answer my question.” It was painfully difficult to sound threatening when he was so weak. “Wha –”

“This is the third time you’ve awoken,” the man retorted, straightening from where he was crouched by the fire to approach Arthur. The man’s eyes – a cold, ice blue - studied him clinically. “My name is Merlin. I’m a Druid; I found you stumbling through the woods near the battlefield. You were wounded – I’ve been caring for you. You’re not in any shape to move and I was worried about your men thinking I was with Morgana and killing me before I could explain.”

Arthur paused, blinking at the man. His brain caught on one simple part of the sentence – perhaps not the best part or the most integral, but an interesting one all the same. “You’re a Druid?”

“Yes,” the man – no, Merlin – huffed. “I live in these woods and trade herbs and game to nearby villages in return for supplies. My people are situated near Camlann. Many of them fled when news of the battle were coming. Some sided with Morgana. I did not.”

“You have magic.” Arthur stared at Merlin with wide but wary eyes. “You have magic yet you do not kill me.”

“You have treated our kind with more respect than your Father,” Merlin said quietly, flicking his gaze away from Arthur’s face. Arthur was glad of that – he knew he must have made a flabbergasted expression; “and Druids are a peaceful people. I do not kill.” 

His last word seemed strained. Arthur wondered why, distantly, but promptly didn’t dwell upon it. “I was wounded in the battle,” he remembered, although the memories were fractured and faded every time he tried to reach out to analyze them. “I – I was carried…”

“I found you in the rocks. You must have tried to crawl away after you were severely wounded and your men couldn’t find you. They won, by the way. Patrols have been searching for you.”

Arthur nodded slightly. “You’ve healed my wounds.”

“Yes.” Merlin stood again and ripped a leg off the rabbit, handing over the meat. “Eat. You need strength. Here’s a water-skin if you need that and I can assist you to use the privy if you need that as well.” He said this matter-a-factly before crouching again on the balls of his feet, scanning the woods. “We must be off soon. I sense danger.”

“Sense danger?” Arthur mumbled around a mouthful of meat. “What the hell does that mean?”

Merlin gave him a look and Arthur felt suitably chastised. What was it about that face that made him instantly feel terrible for disappointing him? 

“I have magic,” Merlin explained firmly. “I can sense that sort of thing. There’s some sort of negative presence in the woods – we need to get you moving. The sooner we can get you back to Camelot, the better for both of us.”

“You’ll be rewarded,” Arthur sighed, “for helping me.”

The man looked chastened for a moment, face falling. Arthur wondered what it was that he said that would cause the man such grief. “If you’d rather not…”

“No,” he said quickly, standing up. “A reward would be – nice. Come now, your clothes are dry and you should put them back on. If you think you’re strong enough to stand, we should get moving. The daylight is already fading and we have many miles still to go.”

***  
Deciding to become a Druid wasn’t a difficult decision. Merlin led Arthur through the woods, easily using his magic to find the simplest trail through the trees. His magic would find them the quickest route or the least treacherous, based on what he wished for at the time of casting. It was still odd, to use magic in front of Arthur and not have the man wince or look ashamed.

He was a new man and Arthur was rediscovering him. Being a Druid meant he was allowed to use magic. Being a Druid would make his huntsman skills understandable and his ragged nature not that worrisome. It helped pass off why he was lingering on the edge of a battlefield and why he had knowledge of the healing arts.

It seemed, at least now, that Arthur was buying it. The man was far less delirious than the previous few times he had woken up and this time he managed to even stagger to his feet. A bit of magic supported the man’s slow gait and kept him from toppling over. It was a lot of effort, and his mind spun from using magic both to find the trail and support Arthur, but he didn’t stop.

Arthur was staring at him. He had been staring at him for the last twenty or so minutes and it was starting to get rather unnerving. There wasn't much Merlin could do to stop him staring other than call him out on it -- if they were still friends, he would have done so and likely made a joke out of it, but they weren't friends any longer. They were something else. Some new manifestation. 

A clearing of the throat made him turn his head. "Are you going to bring me all the way back to Camelot?"

Merlin paused and Arthur wavered at the sudden stop. "I figured as much. I can't leave the King stranded out in the middle of nowhere. I assume you won't kill me when we get closer to the citadel?"

Arthur looked rather pale. "Of course not! You're doing me a great service and I thank you for it. I - I don't suppose we've met before?"

Merlin's heart dropped slightly. "Maybe once, in another life. The Goddess plays tricks on us all. Come on, we must keep moving."

"The Triple Goddess, yeah?" Arthur commented awkwardly, drawn along by Merlin's guiding arm as they followed the trail only Merlin could see. "She's the Druid's deity, right?"

If Arthur was himself and remembered Merlin, they'd never have this conversation. He was too awkward after the magic reveal for Merlin to talk about any of the finer points of being a sorcerer. He had hoped despite himself that when he saved Arthur, he could discuss this information, but never actually assumed this would happen. 

But trapped in the woods with only a young Druid as company - and as his savior besides - Arthur was opening up. He was curious, despite himself. Merlin could hear the hesitancy in his questioning but this was likely the first time he had ever been alone with a sorcerer to question about it. To find his own answers, not the useless propaganda he had been force-fed all these years.

Merlin couldn't help but feel his heart swell. If -- if Arthur forgetting him was the only way to open up this curiosity in Arthur's mind, to plant the seed that magic really /could/ be restored to the land (especially now that Morgana was gone and dead), then... maybe it was okay. 

"Merlin?"

He blinked, realizing he was thinking and didn't answer Arthur's question. "My apologies," he said stiffly, trying to figure out a way to talk to Arthur that didn't seem as familiar as they used to be but not overly formal either. It was odd and slightly disorienting, but he'd make it work. He had to. "Yes, the Triple Goddess is our deity. She is the one who controls all."

Arthur nodded, confusion apparent. "I've heard many Druids reference her. Is she - uhm... universal?"

"All Druids worship her, yes," Merlin explained. "It’s where we achieve our magic from. Sorcery is central to our religion - that's why magic is tied so heavily with the Old Ways. Our ways."

"Ah." He was shying away from the subject and Merlin didn't want to push him too far. "You seem open to the subject, for someone whose Father was so cruel against us."

"Magic has hurt our family," Arthur bit. "I don't expect a woodsman like you to understand."

Merlin winced but felt the need to push back when he would normally hold his tongue to avoid fracturing their friendship. This time, there was no friendship to fracture. He stopped, turning around to stare at Arthur. The man was pale, a sheen of sweat on his face and bloodshot eyes. Walking was difficult for him; he was sick and in pain. 

It was no excuse. "I've lost many a loved one to your Father's tyrannical crusade, Pendragon," Merlin spit. "The Pendragons have hurt our family as well and yet I still am helping you today, unlike Morgana. Peace and forgiveness is central to the magical tenants -- harm none and do what you will." 

The King, isolated, alone, and completely at Merlin's mercy, could only open and shut his mouth. His eyes flicked down, awkward and uncomfortable, and it was a tense moment before he spoke. "...I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know anything about magic. Every time I consider it good, it has wounded me so deeply." 

He sighed, reaching out and squeezing Merlin's shoulder. "There are sorcerers who defy our tenants, yes. Just as there are swordsmen who ignore the code of chivalry and harm and kill. Magic is not evil, it is those who wield it that make it so."

"Magic corrupts. It corrupted my sister." But he kept walking forward even as he said it, seemingly still trusting Merlin to get him home safely. Merlin hurried to support Arthur once more and he gratefully sagged some of his weight onto the other. 

"Morgana had only her fear to guide her upbringing in magic. From the moment of its inception, it was something to fear and to hide. That amount of paranoia can cause even the gentlest of souls to lash out." Merlin's voice was soft and quiet. "If she had a teacher, she may not have turned so sharply towards evil. Morgause was her saving grace and she turned into a lackey and then into her own mastery." 

"You know a lot about this for a simple hunter," Arthur commented, turning to study Merlin's face. "Are you _sure_ I don't know you?"

"News about magic travels fast in the correct circles," Merlin said quickly. Arthur's continued inquiries about his familiarity made his heart skip a beat. Maybe... just maybe --

"That must be it," Arthur said firmly, as if casting the thought away, and Merlin swallowed back his hope. Once he got Arthur home, he could use his influence as the King's savior to possibly gain access to the libraries. Maybe he could reverse the spell there. 

They walked in silence for the next stretch of forest.

***  
There was something in the woods. They had been walking for who knows how long - Arthur had spent the last mile or so mentally forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other. He was worried if he asked the Druid to stop, the man would just leave him here, and there was no way for him to get home on his own.

Some part of him was chiding himself for being so weak and foolish - the Arthur Pendragon he normally was wouldn't care less if a Druid left him in the woods. He'd take his sword and find his way home. 

But this time he couldn't - he was weak and sick and his head was pounding. He knew if the other left him here, he'd likely not be able to get up again. He owed this sorcerer - and that was a scary place to be in.

The bushes rustled again and Arthur swallowed. He too knew how to sense danger in the woods. He'd been fighting bandits since before he could really ride a horse. "Merlin," he hissed. "Do you hear that?"

"We've been followed for the last half-mile," the Druid retorted under his breath. "Don't let on that you hear them. Maybe we can ---"

"Halt!" 

No chance of getting past them, then. Merlin inwardly sighed and pushed Arthur slightly behind him, as Arthur was in no shape to fight. A man, thick and burly, stepped out from behind a tree and leveled a sword at Merlin's neck. "Your valuables, please."

"At least you said please," Merlin drawled. He didn't have time for this. He could feel Arthur tensing and put a warning hand on his arm. The other stiffened but didn't say anything. "Alas, we have no valuables to give you."

The man's eyes narrowed. "That sword your friend's got - it's gold, ain't it? That counts as a 'valuable'. Give it here."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. No way in hell would he let anyone take Excalibur. Not if he could help it. He hefted the sword and pointed it at the bandit. "I can't help but notice there's only one of you and two of us," he snarled. "You won't get it."

The bandit laughed darkly. "Boys!"

Suddenly, they were surrounded. The light in the forest seemed to fade, as well, signaling to Merlin one of them was probably magic. He swore sharply and Arthur flashed him a look. 

"I don't want to kill you gentlemen - I ain't got no quarrel with ya. But we're simple folks and we've gotta eat. So sword. Now. I ain't gonna ask twice." 

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to attack," he warned Arthur under his breath. "Don't freak out." Arthur gave him a look and opened his mouth to say something when Merlin threw his arm forward, eyes flashing gold.

Lighting cracked through the air and landed next to the bandit who was talking to them. He barked out a cry of surprise, stumbling backwards, and then waved his hand. "We've a sorcerer, boys!" he shouted, eyes flashing in fury. "Take him!"

Arthur backed up frantically at the incoming men but moved his sword into a ready position. He may not have much body strength left from nearly dying (or so Merlin had said), but he wouldn't leave his new friend to battle alone, sorcerer or not. He wasn't sure where this amount of trust came from but he wasn't about to ignore it.

Fate did weird things and he wasn't about to mistrust her - not when Merlin was really all that was standing between him and a grisly death at the end of a sword. 

A bandit lashed out at him and he parried easily, knocking the blade away. The simple movement winded him and he started gasping slightly. Lights and swears were coming from somewhere behind him but he couldn't turn around and check on Merlin. He had himself to take care of now.

A sword strike came in from the right and he blocked, stepping out of the way from a furious retaliation on the left. It was fortunate this man was a sloppy fighter, as he could tell almost instantly what he was going to do before he did it. The less effort he had to put into actually blocking attacks, the better - every time the steel connected, it set his teeth chattering in his skull. He would loosen his grip on the sword and lessen the pain of impact, but then he'd likely drop the weapon.

Merlin fought frantically behind Arthur, calling on every bit of magic he had to fight off the horde of bandits. He was used to fighting sneakily and with cunning when Arthur was concerned. Fighting outright with magic was disorienting and nearly cost him a finger when he was almost too slow to avoid a sword swipe. "Hell," he panted, moving closer to Arthur who was fighting viciously, teeth grit and sweat beading on his face. "We need to get out of here."

"Don't be an idiot," Arthur hissed. "Of course we do, but there's nowhere out but through. Just kill them already - you must have a spell that does that, right?"

As he said it, he shoved his sword into the man's stomach - with a cry, the bandit dropped, blood seeping out of the wound. It splattered and Merlin just looked on in somewhat horror at the blood flecks on Arthur's face. Could he use magic to be so brutal in front of Arthur ---?

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Be a pacifist when we have a life to live, Merlin! God damn you Druids!" He slashed his sword and caught a man on the shoulder that was about to take off Merlin's dumbstruck head. Frantically, Merlin nodded and his face hardened.

That was it, then. He had Arthur's support. Support for not just his magic but rather everything he could do with it. The last shackles of fear fell away and suddenly he felt free in his anonymity - Arthur didn't mind him using magic because there was no betrayal. No confusion, no heartbreak, no more years of lying. It was a new beginning.

He took a few steps forward and took a deep breath. "Don't – touch- us!" he snarled, leaning down and slamming his hand onto the dirt with a bright flash of golden eyes. 

The world pitched sideways. The earthquake was heavy and sudden. Huge rents tore the forest apart. The wind picked up as well, heavy and howling its anger onto the forest below. Stunned at the force of the power that went flowing out of him, Merlin stumbled backwards towards Arthur. The other was staring, a bit dumbly, at the hole in the ground which had just swallowed his aggressor. "Merlin...?"

"Stay close," he snapped, pulling Arthur into him. "Merlin, you're -" 

"Not _now_!" As the wind howled and the earth raged, they stayed protected in a small sphere of calm. They held together as the earth raged its fury against the men who wished to harm the Once and Future King and the one they called Emrys.

When the wind finally faded and the ground ceased moving, the calm settled over the woods. As was the way of his magic, it looked like nothing had even happened - the tears in the ground had closed and the trees stood just as tall as ever. However, there was no bandits to be seen -- they were consumed. Buried alive.

Merlin panted heavily and Arthur stared. "...holy shit," he huffed. "Merlin- I didn't know you could do that."

"I didn't either, my lord," he admitted, straightening. He felt dizzy and exhausted. Arthur looked like he was going to say something else but was distracted by Merlin's arm. 

"You're bleeding," he said with a frown. "Someone must have caught you with their sword."

"The leader threw a knife," Merlin muttered. "I didn't realize it had hit."

Ever a battlefield professional, Arthur pushed aside his confusion and his questions and instead ripped off part of his cloak. He twisted it into a bandage and then deftly tied it around Merlin's arm while the man looked on, dazed. "Your first battle wound," Arthur grinned. "You earned it. That was incredible. Can all Druids do that?"

"Some," Merlin replied distantly, leading Arthur over to an overturned log. The offering of a piece of cloth to bandage a wound brought back memories of his first true battle wound, years ago, when Arthur had ripped apart his new tunic. The memories hurt viciously - he pushed them aside. "We're normally peaceful and wouldn't choose to use it unless threatened."

Arthur collapsed at the base of a tree and glanced over at Merlin curiously. "My Father feared that sort of power being turned against Camelot and so he banned magic. But talking to you, I realize that instead of banning it, there's a chance I could gain its allegiance. You need not fear something loyal to you."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. He felt sort of sick from killing so many men and the fact that Arthur hardly seemed bothered by so much useless death. But the statement Arthur just made.... "You'd allow magic?"

"Not allow it, not yet," he said with a shake of his head. "Not completely, anyways. There's too much damage; too much suffering. My people would never allow it. But .... there's a possibility we could increase relations with the Druidic tribes. Befriend your people and mine." 

Merlin nodded slightly. "It's a step in the right direction." A really good step, actually - Merlin just wished that it had come not because Arthur thought he was a Druid. If legalizing magic was so easy that he should have just revealed his magic ages ago, he didn't know what he'd do. It was strange to have this conversation with Arthur - one so distant of familiarity and yet so close as well. 

Arthur glanced around while Merlin was thinking. "I know these woods!" he announced. "If that's the White Mountains on our right, we should keep walking east and we'll arrive back at the outskirts of the city by lunchtime tomorrow. Keep going and we should be in bed with warm wine by supper." He tapped his stomach with a warm grin and then cocked his eyebrow at Merlin. "You're welcome to stay, of course. You seem to have some herbal healing skills if you managed to bring me back to life and you are of the Druids. Maybe my physician, Gaius, could make use of you."

Merlin's heart stabbed with pain but he forced himself to smile. "Of course, sire."

Arthur frowned - sire wasn't how he wanted to be addressed, for some reason. Not by this man. "Call me Arthur, Merlin, please."

Merlin nodded in deference, gritting his teeth. "Of course, Arthur. If you want me to stay, I will." 

Seemingly satisfied, Arthur cleared his throat. “I’ll take the first watch – that magic took a lot out of you, yeah?” Merlin could only nod and leaned back against the pine needles that covered the ground. Arthur pulled off his cape and fondly threw it over Merlin’s shoulders. 

“Don’t you need this?”

Arthur shook his head. “You take it for now. I’ll grab it when we switch watches. Goodnight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

***  
Arthur was shaking him awake before it felt like he even really fell asleep. He moaned, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. "It can't be my watch yet," he mumbled. 

The King, half shrouded in shadow, shook his head. "You're bleeding through the bandage and have been muttering in your sleep for the last half hour. I wanted to make sure you weren't about to catch fever - last thing we need is you falling ill."

Merlin frowned. "It’s been more than a half hour?"

"You've been asleep for almost two hours," Arthur said, gesturing quietly to the sky. The moon had traveled a short distance over the clearing and was nearing its height. "It's almost mid-night." 

A spell, then, to stop the bleeding. The more he bled out, the dizzier and more delirious he would get and neither of them could afford that. Merlin grit his teeth - the most effective spell wasn't exactly the most pleasant, but would have to do in this instance.

"Close your eyes," he ordered. Arthur raised an eyebrow and did not obey - at least he was learning not to take his words as law anymore, but Merlin really didn't have the energy for Arthur's disobedience or to explain every bit of magic. "I'm using a spell to cauterize the wound," he explained shortly. "It's going to be a bright flash of light. I'm likely going to scream. Look away."

"Cauterize? Jesus." Arthur looked rather pale. "That seems excessive. I could stitch it." 

"Neither of us have the energy to find sinews to stitch with, Arthur," Merlin snapped, gritting his teeth. "This is the fastest way that'll leave me not woozy with overuse of magic in the morning. It's battlefield ethics."

Arthur understood that, if nothing else, and turned away to shield his eyes. Merlin wrapped his hand over his shoulder and whispered a spell. The clearing lit up with bright light and an incredible heat lanced across his wound.

He screamed roughly, jamming the edge of his coat into his mouth to try to stifle the cry. The pain was overwhelming but thankfully rather instant and faded as soon as his skin could no longer react to pain. Arthur turned around and grabbed his arm to study the wound. "It's clean," he said firmly, ripping off another piece of his tunic to wrap the wound in. "You should get some more rest."

"No," Merlin said gruffly. "You need to sleep. Now that I'm not losing blood I'll be fine. You, on the other hand, are still weak and need to rest. That wound will slow us down tomorrow and if we want wine with supper next evening we'll have to move quickly." 

Arthur nodded distantly, laying down against the tree trunk himself. "...you know," he mumbled, staring at Merlin for a long moment. "I - I find myself remembering you from somewhere. It's weird. The more I talk to you, the more its like - I feel like I know you."

Merlin's stomach twisted in a different sort of agony. "Like I said before," he mumbled, "the Goddess gives and takes away. Perhaps we did know each other, once."

"I wouldn't have known a Druid," Arthur said softly, seemingly slipping into sleep. "But if I had to meet one, I'm glad it was you."

Merlin looked out into the darkness, rubbing his arm. ".... me too," he whispered. Arthur likely couldn't hear him. "Me too."


	2. Chapter 2

Arriving back at Camelot was uneventful. Merlin couldn't count how many times he'd seen the castle emerging from between the trees, but it still managed to choke him up slightly. It was the sight of home and he couldn't help but love it even still. 

He had expected a big crowd to run up to them or at least a legion of guards hustling to find their commander. But instead, the castle was quiet as it would be on any other midday. The hustle and bustle was there, of course, but they walked through the lower town without being hailed. 

Suddenly, Merlin realized what they must look like. He turned to Arthur and chuckled. "People don't recognize you," he muttered and the King gave him a long glance, put out. 

"You think?" Arthur snapped. The King was covered in mud, face scratched from traveling all day. He was pale and drawn as they had pushed to try to return back to the Kingdom by midday. He didn't look like they had expected the King to look and for all intents and purposes, he was traveling alone.

If things had gone the way Merlin had planned them to go, they would have been greeted by Gwen racing down the stairs to embrace her King and to kiss Merlin joyfully on the cheek. He had figured she'd be crying and he had selfishly hoped, somewhere deep inside, Arthur would finally consider him a hero.

Having people he had known for years - stable boys, tavern workers, etc. - look at him blankly with no recognition despite wearing the same clothes as always hurt. Merlin forced himself to bite his tongue, not saying anything bitter. It wasn't their faults. If it was anyone's fault, it was that witch. 

Arthur led the way into the citadel proper and it was at that moment the guard at the gate truly noticed who the grungy man with the golden hair was. "Sire!" he shouted, waving his hand and ringing his bell. "The King! The King has returned! He's alive!"

Arthur felt a burst of pride in his chest at his guards and waved slightly but still felt exhausted and ready to topple. But they were home. Thank the good lord, they were _home_ . He allowed Merlin to lead them forward into the citadel proper and into the loving arms of his men.

The loving arms of his men, half of which were pulling him from Merlin and supporting him gently and the other half of which were holding swords to Merlin's throat, surrounding the gentle Druid with blades of steel. "Stop!" Arthur shouted raggedly. "Don't hurt him. By order of the King of Camelot, do NOT hurt this man! Merlin - do not attack! Everyone stand DOWN!"

If the courtyard hadn't known Arthur was home, they did now. It was draped momentarily in silence and then Leon - good Captain of the Guards Leon who had come out as soon as the bell had been rang - jabbed his sword to Merlin's throat aggressively.

That was enough. Feeling frustrated tears build in his eyes, he waved his hands, causing the men around him to ready their swords even further. "Stop, please," Merlin stammered. "I'm no threat to you." He shot Arthur a beseeching look - he couldn't make it all the way home only to be burned at the stake by his own friends... by Leon... 

"Stand down, Sir Leon," Arthur growled. Leon reluctantly sheathed his sword and when he did, the rest followed. "Merlin is a Druid. A sorcerer, yes, but under my protection. He found me wounded at the edge of the rock formation by Camelot, dragged me out, and nursed me back to health."

"Why didn't he find a patrol?" Leon snapped, looking back over at Merlin. It didn't sound like the warm, Druid-loving Leon Merlin knew and it made him feel sick. It was good the Captain of the Guard could be so aggressive when his city was still under siege but to see Leon stare at him with such non-recognition, calling him a threat... 

"And have them shove a sword through his gut?" Arthur retorted. "My Knights are the best in the realm but many of them are prejudiced. Like you're being, Sir Leon. I intend to try to foster peace in this Kingdom and I won't start that by shedding any more blood. Merlin will come inside with me and be treated to a bath and provided with new clothes before we meet for supper. Is that understood?"

"Gaius should check on you, sire," Leon said stiffly, looking at him. Arthur let out a long sigh. "He may examine me when I am in the bath. Does that work for you, _Sir_ Leon?" The 'sir' was emphasized this time to show Leon's rank as under Arthur's - the man snapped into position at the slight reprimand and nodded. "Let the Druid pass, men."

Supported by one guard, Arthur led the way into the castle. Merlin followed behind, looking up at the open front doors of the place he had called home for the last ten years. It suddenly seemed much more ominous than before.

***  
The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity. They were separated for the first time since Arthur was returned to life - Arthur limping off back to his chambers and Merlin led to a solitary row of guest chambers that were easily guarded. He supposed he understood - standard protocol for when the King acted insane and let in a random Druid sorcerer - but he still vastly disliked it.

The worst part was watching the people in Camelot. Everything looked the same, the same familiar hustle and bustle as usual, but he felt a stranger in it. It was sort of like returning to Ealdor, except this time he really was a stranger instead of just returning after a long absence. He'd only been gone a little more than a week but it felt like an entire lifetime.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he could almost fool himself into believing that it was fine and if he fell asleep, everything would be fine when he woke up. He was just about to fall asleep when a knock came at the door. 

"Come in?" he announced sleepily, looking up. Was it Arthur?

No. Worse. Gaius bustled into the room, followed by two young servants. The servants weren't too bad - their non-recognition wasn't terrible because he never really spent too much time with the other servants. But Gaius... Merlin was forced to avert his gaze from the blank look shown to him.

"The King says you're a Druid," Gaius said with an arched eyebrow. Obviously skeptical, but Gaius didn't seem the man that would call him out. But now that Gaius had never really met Merlin, he didn't know what the man would do.

Merlin swallowed. He didn't have a Druid tattoo, either, so there was that. Arthur didn't think to ask for one as proof, but Gaius surely would. "I'm a sorcerer," he sighed. "I've been on my own a while. I promise, I mean no one any threat."

"Camelot has just been at war with Morgana," Gaius said with an arched eyebrow. "She has every right not to trust magic."

Merlin sighed. "I understand that but I have saved the life of your King. Surely that shows that I mean no harm?" 

Gaius nodded. "I don't mean to interrogate you, son. I'm Gaius, the Court Physician. I'm here to check your wounds before you bathe. I've been told you used an old cauterizing spell on a knife wound? I should check it hasn't been infected."

"It's fine," Merlin said stiffly. He couldn't afford to undress in front of Gaius and his fear and anger and disappointment at the man's blank stare was manifesting into aggression. "Please, I just wish to bathe in peace."

"I don't mean you any -"

"I understand that," he snapped, cutting his old mentor off, "and I appreciate the effort to help. I'm just extremely exhausted and want to catch an hour of sleep before supper. Please, leave me be."

Gaius paused and nodded slightly. "Fine. I shall attempt to do this again soon. I am under orders."

Merlin nodded. "Of course. I don't mean to make you insubordinate. Goodnight, Gaius."

The physician raised his eyebrow and studied Merlin for a moment longer, seemingly confused - confused was better than blank - before slipping out. Merlin collapsed backwards on the bed and stared up at the canopy, wishing for not for the first time since the incident that there was some way to change this.

***  
The dining room was stately decorated when he arrived. Coming home had been a blessing and he was treated with a hot bath and attended by many servants. Gaius had checked him over and remarked that his wound had progressed remarkably and that a wound of that size should have killed him.

Arthur supposed he had his Druid friend to thank for his life and for that he was extremely grateful. He wondered, not for the first time, where the man had come from. He seemed familiar, still - for some reason Arthur felt like he didn't just know the man but somehow could also sense how he'd react to things.

Perhaps they knew each other as children? Long ago, before his Father's tyrannical rule of the Druidic clans really commenced? He doubted it. Perhaps... well, perhaps he had killed the man's family when he attacked the clans himself as a younger soldier.

He sincerely hoped not. If that were the case, he doubted he could face the man, despite all the sincerity he had trying to atone for his past sins. Forcing the thought away, he moved towards his seat, smiling at Gwen who was sitting in the seat opposite. “Guinevere,” he said gently, leaning over to kiss her.

“Arthur,” she murmured, smiling widely. “I’m glad you’re safe.” She stroked his cheek and he kissed her again. Something felt … wrong, although he couldn’t say what. He should be happy to be seeing his wife again and he was, certainly, but he felt like something was missing. Pushing that thought aside, he claimed his spot at the head of the table. Now that his Father and Morgana were gone, Gwen and him were the only ones to sit at the large table. Normally he'd dine with his knights but they weren't invited this evening. The room seemed lonely.

The stew steaming on the tabletop looked delicious and suddenly he was hungrier than he felt he had ever been. He had just started to eat and converse with his wife when the doors swung open and admitted a small figure. The man was dressed in a soft green cloak and a simple brown tunic and trousers - obviously someone's hand-me-down rushed to him when needed - but looked fresh and scrubbed. "Merlin!" Arthur called out, tapping the seat next to him. "Come sit near me."

Merlin nodded, heading over to take the seat across from Arthur. He looked down the long table and smiled gently at Gwen. Arthur noted it didn’t quite make his eyes and frowned slightly – he could see Guinevere shift uncomfortably. “My lady,” he murmured, glancing around the throne room. “Empty,” he commented. It was strange - without King Uther and Morgana and perhaps a few knights, the room seemed desolate. However, Merlin didn't push - the last thing he wanted was to set Arthur into a bad mood or get off on the wrong foot with Gwen. 

They ate in silence for a few moments before Gwen cleared her throat. "I hope you have found your first few hours at Camelot enjoyable."

Not the first few hours, Merlin thought morosely, but replied, "Yes, my lady. Everyone has been very helpful. I declined the services of your physician, however, I hope that's alright."

Arthur waved his hand. "No matter. If you feel you're okay, than that's perfectly fine."

The conversation ceased once more; each returned to their bowls. Finally, Merlin could take the stifling silence no longer - the emptiness of the room plus Gwen’s obvious non-recognition was stifling. "Yule's coming up. I heard of Camelot's Samhain festival - I assume you'll be celebrating the return of the sun as well?"

Arthur laughed darkly. "Last Samhain we were attacked by my sister's Doracha demons. I do hope we won't be so brutalized this holiday, but yes. The castle's already been decorated and I look forward to it. The solstice is my favorite time of year."

“Despite the war and my husband’s absence, Camelot has been working hard to make it cheery in here. Our best men are hunting for the largest and greenest tree – as you know, the longer it burns, the longer our festivities continue,” Gwen explained, a gentle smile on her face.

"My tradition as well," Merlin commented lightly, but the enjoyment seemed somewhat muted. He remembered they all used to both get much cheerier as the weather turned and harkened the coming of Yule. It was a special time in Camelot - of feasting, parties, and his favorite, Boxing Day, where gifts were given to servants. He normally could count on Arthur to awkwardly give him whatever he had needed going forward, be it a new pair of gloves, some hand-me-down boots rubbed supple, or just a couple coins. This year, this Yule, he'd get nothing. Arthur would have no clue what he wanted. Arthur didn't even remember who he was.

He was forced to swallow to hold back the tears that prickled in the back of his eyelids. He could feel Gwen’s eyes on him and forced himself to stay stoic, but it was difficult. He had pushed aside the fear and the sorrow for too long; tried to find the bright side. But now? Now there was no chance. He'd stay for the Yule festivities - he had to - but then he would leave. Morgana was gone; his destiny completed. There was nothing to hold him here.

Arthur was speaking with Gwen and Merlin only tuned in for the last of it. "....and there will be a brief ceremony later this evening to reveal to the whole Kingdom I am hale and hearty, thanks to you. I trust you'll be there?"

"Where else would I be?" Merlin replied weakly. Arthur frowned, sensing Merlin's hesitation and sorrow, but unsure of what to do about it. So he pushed it aside and took another big gulp of his stew.

They finished the meal in silence.

***  
The Throne Room was packed to the brim with noblemen and commoners alike. Despite this, Arthur's entrance hardly went unnoticed. The trumpets blared, announcing people of their King's arrival, and the doors opened. In true Pendragon fashion, Arthur was wearing nothing fancy but his cape and sword. However, everyone noticed him and the buzz rose immediately.

He took his place in his throne, smiling at his wife. He kissed her on the cheek again, squeezing her hand, but again something felt a bit ... incomplete. It wasn’t a negative feeling but an annoyance all the same, like something was missing. Like he should have something but he didn’t. A niggling feeling in the back of his mind. 

Pushing it aside, he looked out over his people, gathered here to hear him speak. He cleared his throat. “People of Camelot,” he said firmly – not overly loud, but powerful enough that it would carry over the chatter. The noise in the hall ceased like it had never existed at all.

From the crowd, Merlin stood off to the side, marveling at Arthur’s ability. After the awkward dinner and his decision to leave after the Yule festivities, he felt more at peace with the situation. Certainly the way Arthur held Gwen’s hand meant he still loved her and he trusted Gwen to keep him in line. And yes, there were the Knights – the pain he felt at Gwaine’s death lanced through him again when he noticed the emptiness in his spot but he forced it away. Not now. Not now. 

The Knights of the Round Table were low on numbers after the war – low on friends – but they would still protect Arthur well. And he had heard of new knights, Sir Galahad for example, or Sir Bors, being trained in the ways of chivalry and honor. His legacy would continue even if his memory faded. Swallowing, Merlin listened to Arthur spin a tail of heroism about the battle. Talking about an old sorcerer no one could identify that helped turn the tide of the battle. About the heroics of various knights.

He was just about to turn and leave, perhaps get to bed early, when Arthur’s voice said his name. “I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for the brave efforts of one Druid. One man who didn’t have any reason to save me – hell, likely should have sided with Morgana – but instead found me stabbed by Mordred. If he didn’t heal me and help carry me back to Camelot, you would have been crowning a new Queen this night.”

People were looking at him; targeting him. Whispering to each other and pushing him slowly up towards the throne. Arthur was grinning warmly. “While I think my wife would make an excellent Queen, I’m rather glad she didn’t have to attempt it just yet. Merlin, will you come up to the throne, please? I did promise I was going to reward you.”

This was unbelievable. He had never felt so… well. He flushed, but a part of him – the little selfish part of him that had always been smothered away – was crowing in joy. He was getting recognition! Not for everything he had done, of course not, but a little bit. Just enough to make it all seem worthwhile.

However, it wasn’t him that was getting that reward. If it were him, Arthur would never have thanked him so publicly. He had received his thanks from Arthur on the side of a lake while the man was dying in his arms. It was a whisper, a promise – a declaration. This wasn’t the same as that intimate promise. It was too public. Not as real.

Arthur noticed Merlin hesitate and his eyes flick around the room like a caged animal. Druids didn’t like being stuck indoors and they certainly didn’t like crowds. Inwardly he punished himself for forcing his savior into a position where he’d feel uncomfortable – perhaps it was better just giving him a pouch of gold and a promise at the front gates. But there was no repealing the gesture now and he bowed his head to Merlin as the man approached.

Merlin bowed back and bent to one knee – this, at least, he felt comfortable doing. Druid guise or not, Arthur was his King and he would respect that until the day he died. “I wanted to thank you personally, Merlin, for your act of heroism.”

The crowd was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

“For these acts, as well as my personal gratitude, I would like to award you with this gold –” Here he pulled out a small pouch full of gold pieces and handed it over to Merlin, who received it with a look of almost revulsion on his face despite Gwen’s helpful smile – “and a small title, with it comes a promise.”

Merlin blinked, looking up from the coins (of which he really didn’t want – he didn’t need to be paid to help Arthur, good grief) and into the face of his King. “A title?”

A title? The question was burning across the crowd. The King – known for knighting commoners – was going to award a title to a Druid?! 

“By the power vested in me as King of Camelot, ruler of the realm,” Arthur said firmly, tapping Merlin’s shoulder with Excalibur, “I dub thee Ambassador to the Druids.” Merlin’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“This used to be a title long ago – I had Geoffrey, our Court Archivist, look it up as soon as we arrived back home. I promised you I intend to improve relations with our sorcerer brethren, starting with the Druids. With you as Ambassador, I think we can start that. I trust you, Merlin. I hope you trust me.”

This was everything. This was huge. And this honor was going to him as a damn Druid instead of the real Merlin, a common boy from Ealdor. Arthur would have never done this if he was still his hapless, helpless servant…

But, would he? If he still had his memories, would Arthur still be making him a part of court today? He had no way of knowing but the anger still roiled in his stomach. Everything he dreamed of was happening and yet the intimacy, the friendship, the happiness between the two of them was gone. Perhaps one day it could come back but he didn’t have the energy to foster a relationship again. Couldn’t look Arthur in the eyes again and not see that deep trust and deep affection he saw on that lakebed only a few days ago. 

People were waiting for him to speak. “… I – yes, sire, of course I do,” he mumbled. “I shall be your Ambassador, but I don’t assume you intend me to stay at court with you?”

Arthur shook his head firmly. “No, no. I want you to go home to your people. I trust you’ll send me messages when and if the Druids have anything they wish to discuss. I shall do the same and we shall meet – me advocating for my people, you advocating for yours. If your High Council wants part of this, I shall meet with them too, of course.”

Merlin nodded vacantly and stood up, one hand still clenched around the bag of money. “I – I thank you, sire,” he said softly. Arthur couldn’t quite point out why he wasn’t seeing joy on this man’s face, but didn’t press. It was probably a lot to comprehend. “Everyone give a round of applause for Merlin!”

When the crowd burst into cheers, it was too much. Hands shaking, they spasmed and dropped the money. Horrified, he sprinted from the hall. 

***  
It took Merlin a few moments before he was steady enough emotionally to stop running. He leaned against a wall by the large front doors to the castle, gasping, one hand splayed. He was in a doorway, blocking access to servant's quarters leading to the Great Hall, but he couldn't move. It was like his legs had turned into jelly. Or sand. 

He heard footsteps behind him - there was a chance that Arthur had followed him out. Stupid!! He shouldn't have run - of course Arthur would cause a huge commotion in the castle by going to follow him. Speculation would come soon after. 

But he didn't have time to think more than that he had to leave here immediately before Arthur rounded the corner. He was red faced but Merlin couldn't tell if it was from anger or exertion from chasing him down vacant castle corridors. 

"You shouldn't have followed me," Merlin said softly, not meeting Arthur's eyes. 

Arthur frowned darkly. Of bloody course he would follow him - the man had fled his council chambers and looked like he was about to cry. Was being an ambassador really so awful? Was being tied to him really such a terrible fate? He had thought... well, he had thought they were friends. Or at least had the possibility to be friends. "I followed you because you fled and because I have to return your reward. Why did you run?"

"I got ... overwhelmed," Merlin admitted as truthfully as possible. "I couldn't help but run. Everything since I've gotten here at Camelot has been too much."

"Since you're a Druid?" Arthur asked, but for some reason he sensed it was more than that. The same way he felt that unmistakable lack every time they looked at one another closely in the eyes. Merlin was sad. He knew something and was choosing not to say. 

"Something like that," Merlin replied. They fell silent for a few moments. Arthur sighed. "You know, you can come to me if..."

"I'm fine." Merlin's voice was curt. "I just - I can't be here any longer."

That thought hurt more than it should. Arthur's face twisted. "Stay for Yule at least."

"I wanted to," Merlin admitted - and he had wanted to, that wasn't a lie. But ... "I can't. I need to go. For my own sanity I can't be in Camelot any longer. I like you and Queen Guinevere, of course, but…" His voice broke and again he remembered the look on his friend's faces. That blank stare. “I can't be here."

Arthur glanced up and silence held for a few long moments. He couldn’t understand what was pulling at him – why he needed this man to stay so desperately. His heart felt like he was losing something incredibly important, something he needed, and that abandonment ached like an open wound. The sensation that he was forgetting something again flashed against his mind and this time a shadowy figure followed. 

Looking up, Arthur’s eyes fixed on something. "... Mistletoe," he murmured, forcing himself to try to change the subject. A King would never force a subject to stay in his service, especially not a sorcerer. "Always never understood why they were hung for the Yule festivities."

Merlin blinked, looking over at Arthur who seemed earnest in his question. The tears that were brimming on his lashes were brushed away and he looked at Arthur, feeling a bit better at the change of topic. The warm, innocent question. 

"It's an herb of healing. Powerful. It has much significance around this time of year." 

Arthur nodded slightly. "It also carries the tradition that people standing under it must kiss." He gave Merlin a sideways glance. 

Merlin bit his lip. Could he? Could he indulge in the one thing he always wanted to do? The one thing he never could have? ".... you're married," he breathed. 

"Mistletoe kisses don't count," Arthur shrugged with a small smile. Again with the sensation that this didn’t matter; that he had to do this. "And I want to thank my savior."

Merlin figured if he left immediately after, the pain of losing the kiss may be just as manageable as losing Arthur's memory. And damn it, he wanted this. He always wanted this. Merlin gently leaned up and brushed his lips across Arthur's.

For a moment, nothing happened, before Arthur was holding him close and kissing him back. They stood together, learning each other's mouths, Merlin's stomach twisting and souring in equal measure. 

When they broke apart, reality crashed back. Merlin swallowed and sighed, turning on his heel. "I have to go." Without looking back, he started striding down the front steps.   
Without turning his back, he heard the intake of breath - shocked. And then " _Merlin_!" - a shattering cry filled with such grief and desolation. "Come back!"

A voice filled with memories and a voice filled with love. Arthur’s memories – and the rest of the castle’s - were back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Christmas magic fixes all wounds, people. :)


End file.
